


i know that i'm going low

by blue-finger-stripes (mr_dr_felicia)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Action, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Court of Owls, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Gen, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Multi, Tags May Change, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, after joker war, and share lots of emotional baggage, bruce gets kidnapped, everyone is bad at feelings ngl, gratuitous sharing of feels, he's drake, no beta we die like literally everyone in dc, the bat bros go on a mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_dr_felicia/pseuds/blue-finger-stripes
Summary: "Your heartbeat stopped."Damian's brain was numb. He understood what was being said, but his body stood frozen, hands clenched at his sides. He waited until the tips of his fingers were freezing in his gloves, the pain helping to ground him in the present. Finally he looked up, three pairs of blue eyes looking down at him. "But it's back now. Father's isn't."Bruce is kidnapped. His robins race to find him.(updates every week if my procrastination allows)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 21
Kudos: 111





	1. Damian Awake

**Author's Note:**

> this is set sometime after joker war and presumably dick is back and rick is gone forever. tim is back from multi-verse shenanigans, and damian is still going through some things with the newly teenaged jon. jason is jason.

**19:03 Saturday**

Damian woke with a restrained gasp, body going rigid. He was slung over someone’s shoulder, their arms tightening when they felt him wake up. Their grip was iron against the thirteen-year old’s torso, his arms pinned to his sides. Damian curled his fingers around the tip of a shuriken and kicked out his legs, planning to land two solid kicks to the kidnapper’s midsection. Whoever it was carrying him caught his ankle before it could land though and simply let the other connect with a thump. He huffed out a breath, barely pausing.

“You’ve been sedated, kid.” Red Hood’s tinny voice crackled in his ear. “Pretty much out of commission until you’ve got it out of you.”

Damian did not doubt the man’s words; if he weren’t sedated with an adult dose of sedative he would’ve been out of Todd’s grip and starting a fight already. But as it was he did still feel the sedative in his system, and though he’d managed to regain consciousness, his limbs were still heavy and his thoughts flowed like honey. Even then, he felt his face grow hot with shame at the realization that he'd failed again, this time enough to warrant a teammate to go out of their way to pick him up from whatever proverbial hole he'd fallen into. He allowed himself to be hefted onto the back of Todd’s motorbike, stiff arms manipulated to hold tightly around the Red Hood's waist.

“Yeah,” Todd said. His voice sounded like he was talking into his comms. “I’ve got him, coming back now. He’s fine-- been sedated but awake now. Probably some memory loss.” Damian did not miss the change of intonation in the last sentence.

The bike started with a growl that echoed in the dim back alley. Damian frowned at the noise and turned his head, one ear pressed into Todd’s back. From there he could hear the man's heartbeat -- slow, like Grandfather’s. Whatever comfort he could gain from it was dashed when his own erratic heartbeat echoed in his own ears.

He tried to think back to what had happened. He didn’t try to suppress the irritation and anger that bled into his thoughts, letting it swallow him whole. It’d been an ordinary patrol, the back alley a familiar place Damian liked to check up on every few days. It was dark and had a laundromat and an arcade on either side, both very loud places that could mask any muffled screams. And had easy access to guileless children.

Damian remembered clearly not seeing anything, because he would have remembered kicking a predator’s teeth in if he had. A glance at his bloodless boot justified that assumption.

Either the sedative or his fall when he’d lost consciousness induced some kind of memory loss then. Damian wracked his brain for any information, but came up empty. He couldn’t even remember fighting anybody before he’d fallen unconscious.

Father would be most disappointed. Damian felt his fingers tighten into hard fists at the thought of the face he'd make, silent and understanding, but with a much larger dose of pity and disappointment. Drake would have found some way to make himself remember when he woke up, and Grayson never let anyone sneak up on him. Hell, if somehow Todd was unable to beat Damian’s assaulter, his helmet would have recorded video footage of him and allowed for quicker identification. This would have never happened to his adopted sons, but easily happened to his blood son years into their partnership?

Damian at least would have a few more days to wallow in his self-contempt before Father got back from his League mission. Probably another week on the bench, then.

He swallowed the bitter thought that the familiar bedroom window in Metropolis he easily slipped into whenever Batman had benched him was closed now, a wood and glass wall between him and a certain metahuman. Damian could still look in, see his older face and his life, but couldn't become a part of his life without breaking through and causing a mess.

He fought to stay awake as Todd wove through side streets, heading for the Manor. The rumble of the bike and the meandering turns almost lulled him into sleep, his eyes already closed when a gunshot woke him back up.

Todd holstered his pistol and yelled back into the rapidly vanishing alley. In the darkness a woman sprang out, her bright white opera gloves glowing amidst the splatter of blood. It was not her own. She was dialing 911 even as her attacker weakly crawled out of the alley as well, clutching at his bleeding thigh.

Damian passed by people emerging from their ground floor apartments, some running out to help the woman. He did not doze off again until they reached the Manor.

Nightwing’s bike was already parked in the garage. Its engine was still warm as Damian passed by it, suddenly realizing that his cloak was soaked through with rainwater. He shivered.

“Robin!”

Damian jumped at the voice. It had been years, but sometimes his mind regressed back into those months he’d spent as Robin for Grayson’s Batman. There was still a part of him that snapped to attention at his eldest sibling’s voice. He braced himself for a scolding and was shocked when an arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him into a warm body.

“Are you alright, Dami?” Grayson ran probing fingers through his hair. “Jay. Are you sure he doesn’t have a concussion?”

Damian shook the older man’s hands away at the same time Todd spoke. He assured Grayson of his assessment, but Damian did not bother catching their conversation as he stalked further into the Cave, fingers itching at the wound on his neck. The needle had scratched at him before it pierced the skin deep enough to deposit the chemical cocktail, and the high collar of his uniform rubbed against it unpleasantly.

He passed Alfred on his way to the showers, the old butler manning the Batcomputer. His voice was clipped as it addressed Barbara Gordon, whose face and voice emanated from one of the smaller monitors. It trailed off the moment he noticed Damian. He opened his mouth to say something, but Damian did not need the old man reminding him to take better care of himself. He’d been taking care of himself since he was three. And he did not need anymore reminding of his failures tonight. He headed for the changing rooms. “I am turning in for the night.”

“Oh!”

Duke Thomas emerged from the attached shower rooms, half of his Signal uniform already on. His tired eyes locked onto Damian’s and he looked shocked to seem him. More often than usual. "You're all right?"

Damian felt his mouth twist into a frown, baring his teeth. "Of course. I am not made of glass."

The older boy gave him a strangely sincere smile. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m not really a hugger,” he began. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”

Damian blamed the sedative as he was yet again too shocked to react, instead watching from in front of the changing rooms as Thomas put on his remaining gear nearby the garage. Didn’t the Signal patrol in the day? Damian was certain at least that Thomas had gone on patrol earlier today, exhaustion apparent from his slower movements and sallow complexion. He actually stifled a yawn before addressing Grayson. Damian watched as Thomas spoke with Grayson and Todd, the youngest of them waving a hand in mock-nonchalance. Even stranger, he grabbed onto their shoulders as well, squeezing them like he’d done with Damian. Then he left, and Damian’s two brothers immediately looked across the Cave at him. They wanted to talk.

"I will have my report written by tomorrow morning."

"I think that can wait, Damian." Grayson's voice was full of reproach as he spoke. As if Damian were some wounded animal he needed to be gentle with. "We'd like to talk for a bit."

Todd had taken off his helmet. He looked at his cellphone before nudging Grayson. “Timmy’s almost here.”

Anger scratched at the back of his throat. Of course Timothy would be called in to see how much of a fool he'd been. With each passing second of Grayson's sad gaze trained on him Damian found the prospect of acting like the wounded animal they saw him as becoming better and better. He wouldn't just be wounded and scared, he'd be feral. “Are you not going on Patrol.” It did not sound like a question, because Damian didn't want an answer. They did not need to hover over him now. He was at the Cave already, didn’t they trust him enough inside his own home?

Grayson answered anyway. “No need, Spoiler and the Signal have already gone out. And Batwoman is out overseeing the new Arkham delivery tonight.”

At that, Damian did a double take. “Arkham delivery? That is on Saturday.”

“Yes?” Todd raised an eyebrow. “Today is Saturday.”

It was like being stabbed in the heart. Damian felt all the air get knocked out of him, his chest tightening. His eyes caught Barbara’s as he searched the screen in front of the silent butler. His mind raced as he took in the information plastered in front of him.

Batman and Robin's heart rate monitors blinked in one corner, his Father's a flat red line against the black. Another window showed a dim video of the alleyway Damian had come out of, him and Batman darting in and out of the camera's view. One frame found it completely empty for a few seconds, before a body in yellow and red dropped to the ground. Damian felt his stomach roll over when he saw his own face in the monitor, pale and seemingly lifeless. His locator was glowing as well, a green dot showing that he was currently at the Manor. The black of his Father's was nowhere to be found.

Damian did not feel the revulsion building until he was doubled over and retching.


	2. 17 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, it's literally 5 am as I am posting this will edit after i wake up if i discover any glaring errors. also PS i love tim drake but i find him the hardest to write so any tips or notes as to how im doing would be great.
> 
> edit: added some more time stamps and fleshed out explanations when Tim and Dick were talking.

**The Cave, 19:39 Saturday**

“Timmy,” Dick stood outside the car door, arms already outstretched even as Tim slid out of the driver’s seat. “Was the flight here alright? No problems?”

Tim hugged the man back but craned his head back to look at him incredulously. He wanted to chide him for the small talk when they had a serious situation at hand, but he knew Dick was just mother-henning to keep himself grounded. It’d been a while since they’d spoken; he wasn’t used to being a younger brother again after nearly a year of leading his own team of teenagers. “Everything was fine. Jason said Damian was awake?”  
“Yeah.” Dick rubbed a hand at the back of his head. “Just, be gentle with him, alright? He’s kinda out of it.”

Tim had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

His brother looked strained, and Tim ignored his worried glances as he picked up the pace, jogging up the stairs to where the medbay was. The flight from San Francisco had been fine, as he’d said, Wayne Enterprises- owned private jets were not a place accidents happened. But Tim had spent the entire three hours poring over every piece of information he could, catching up on all the old cases he’d missed while away with the Young Justice League. His mind was thrumming with all the information he’d absorbed, and he wanted to get going with Damian’s interrogation as soon as possible.

His lip curled at a putrid smell that came from somewhere in the changing rooms, but he ignored it and headed straight into the medbay, the pneumatic doors sliding open with a hiss.

Now it was obvious why Dick had been waiting for him in the garage. The small room was thick with tension, the cutting smell of antiseptic mixed with the bile Tim assumed Damian had vomited mixing into a smell that got onto his already frayed nerves. His two brothers stared at him, the older standing over the cot and applying gauze to a scrape in the younger’s elbow.

“Drake.” The kid did not turn to face him even though he had been the one to speak, his hands clenched into the fabric of his pants. He hadn’t taken off his mask, sweat running in rivulets down his forehead and over the green polycarbonate. His body was tensed to the point of snapping, the kid stubbornly clenching his muscles in refusal of the tremors that would have overtaken any other normal human. Tim had seen Damian on the brink of a panic attack a few times before, but had never seen one consume the younger boy en force. It’s no wonder he and Dick were so close; their eldest brother was famously the only one able to bring Damian out of these episodes.

The doors hissed open again. “Damian--”

The fabric of his pants creaked as the child-assassin nearly tore through it with his bare hands. “I do not wish to talk to you right now, Grayson.”

Tim almost flinched at the chill in the child’s voice. Ok, so that wasn’t gonna happen.

He met Jason’s eyes, a question in the tilt of his mouth. The older man sighed, finishing his work and setting the tools back onto a metal work table. “He’s lost some of his memories, around four days’ worth.”

Tim turned to look at Bruce’s eldest as he spoke, eyes trained on Dick’s face even as the older man stared in baldfaced worry at their youngest. “I’ll give Damian the briefing. I’ve run through all the data and I have a few things I want to clear up.”

Dick nodded minutely and stood at the door, leaning against a wall away from Damian’s line of sight.

Damian did not move from his perch on the cot, but pulled himself up straight, as if facing a jury. He looked at Tim, face drawn. Tim pulled up a stool and opened his tablet, going through some of the files Alfred had sent over from the Batcomputer.

“Jason said you forgot around four days’ worth of memories. So the last thing you remember was Tuesday night. Did you go on patrol that day?”

Damian shook his head. “I had homework. And Father forbade me from patrolling without him after recent...reports.”

Tim worked to hide his wince. Both Dick and Steph had told him about Damian’s recent fight with the Teen Titans, but he hadn’t known the extent of it. It must’ve been pretty bad to warrant Bruce interfering to the point of benching him while he was away on League business.

“My last memory is of refilling Alfred and Titus’ drinking bowls. I do not remember reaching my bed.”

“Alright. Well, Bruce finished his Justice League mission and returned to Gotham on Thursday. Alfred said he didn’t go on patrol that day either, but that on Friday Batman and Robin went on a patrol that started at 22:00.” Tim pulled up footage from the Batcave’s garage camera, of the Batmobile speeding away just a few minutes before ten in the evening. He hoped it would help to jog Damian’s memory, but the boy just furrowed his brow and shook his head.

Next came a clip of Bruce’s own voice speaking into the comms. Tim let Damian listen to the short report, the usual deep timbre and the clipped way of speaking familiar to everyone in the room. It was just two minutes of Batman cataloging the night’s patrol, from the stakeout that proved fruitless, to Robin breaking away to walk three streetwalkers back home when their shifts ended. “Will rendezvous with Robin at 17 Ernst then head back. Overall a calm night.”

Tim did not let himself shudder at that. Even Jason pulled a face at the irony.

“Your trackers did end up meeting at 17 Ernst, but then both headed off in the opposite direction to where the Batmobile had been parked.” At this, Tim showed the boy a report of their heart rate monitors on his tablet.

“At 01:55 your suits recorded a spike in both your heart rates. During this period, you managed to send out this message through the backup communication device in your gauntlets.”

  
Damian’s own voice crackled from the speakers of the tablet. “ _Robin requesting reinforcements to the following coordinates_.”

There was a pregnant pause in the recording, long enough for Jason’s voice to crackle in response. He’d been the only other Bat in Gotham that day. “ _Robin, I’m headed there now. What’s wrong?”_

“ _It’s Batman_.” The Damian in the recording could not stop his voice from cracking, voice breathless. “ _I- Batman is-_ -”

“Afterwards, at around Saturday 02:04 both monitors reported a complete loss of a heartbeat. They would stay silent for the next 17 hours.” Damian visibly froze at this, his knee jumping once before he slammed in back down. He nodded for Tim to continue.

He did, pulling up the video Babs had sent him nearly an hour ago now. “Jason reported to your last known coordinates, but no signs of you or Batman could be seen. Following protocol, Alfred called in the other Bats, and they searched Gotham for you. Nightwing found the Batmobile where it’d been parked at the start of the patrol, but nothing was touched inside.”

Then on Saturday at 18:54, your monitor started projecting a heart beat again, as well as a location. Red Hood picked you up, and Batgirl recovered this from cameras in the area.” Tim supposed Damian had already seen the video from the way he reacted, his calculated gaze translating even through the mask he wore. The kid’s jaw stayed tight with concentration even as he watched his own body drop onto the concrete. One of his arms had caught the rungs of a fire escape, the impact changing the course of his fall enough to prevent him from landing head-first.

Tim let the video play a second time before the graceless way Damian’s body fell started to remind him too much of death. He placed the tablet beside him, its screen darkneing to black.

In front of him, Damian had looked away, shoulders shaking. His exposed upper arms were bulging with the effort to stop his whole upper half from shivering. Tim saw Jason shake his head at Dick from the corner of the room.

“I--” Damian bit down on his cheek. Even his voice shook. “I do not remember any of it. Nothing at all.”

\--

  
**The Manor, Galley Kitchen, 04:41 Sunday**

Tim scooped the coffee grounds with one hand as the other scrolled through his tablet, one earbud in and listening to the most recent week’s patrol logs. It was mostly Bruce’s voice, as Damian preferred to write out his reports and Jason wasn’t the type to give them a rundown of what he’d done after each patrol; if he was even in Gotham.

The fridge only had Damian’s terrible oat milk, and Tim had to pinch himself when he actually considered if it would be a stupid idea to check if Batcow was up to getting milked in the middle of the night. Jesus, I’m tired.

“If you’re saying that out loud then it’s probably not the time to be making a double shot of espresso.” Dick’s voice sounded from behind him, and if Tim had been any more sleepy, he would’ve missed him.

“Ah,” He said, grabbing the milk before turning to face the other man.

Dick looked as terrible as he felt, his eyes dull even thought they were almost an unnatural shade of blue. He was out of uniform after checking out the scene with Duke earlier, and had been poring over the photographs of the scene for the past few hours. It was a pretty tedious job since there was close to zero evidence to even look at.

The alley Damian was found in had nothing to suggest a fight had even broken out. A few scratches on the brick matched with marks Robin's shurikens could make, but other than that there was no blood, chemical residue, not even the syringe the attacker had used to incapacitate Damian. If there hadn't been a video of Batman being there as well as data from their tracking devices, it was like Bruce wasn't there at all during the attack.

Tim poured the milk into one of the ugly mugs Jonathan Kent had gifted Damian. He popped it into the microwave and leaned back, looking at freshly-brewed coffee drip into the waiting pitcher. “That’s where you’re wrong. When I’m admitting to how tired I am, that just means I need more caffeine.”

Dick snickered, but the sound was hollow.

“How did the call go?”

They both knew Tim would need to ask the question inevitably. Dick sighed, thumbing at the side of his phone. “Clark couldn’t hear anything. He can’t pinpoint if it was the same time as when the monitors stopped transmitting, or if it was somehow only temporary like Damian and it’s just been silenced again.”

The microwave dinged, and Tim took out the steaming milk. Superman not being able to hear Bruce’s heartbeat didn’t mean much. Lots of things could influence that, a simple lead-walled cage for example. “That can mean lots of things.”

“Are any of them good?” Dick asked, rubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. “No one would kidnap Batman without letting someone know, right?”

Tim mixed his coffee, humming non-committaly. He realized that this was the longest hair he’d seen on his brother since his headwound. The choppy hair hid the scar quite well, but Tim still caught the way the man’s fingers avoided touching the area.

He kept a correspondence with Alfred that only suffered when he was off-world, so he’d been vaguely aware of the “Rick Situation” as Steph had taken to calling it. Dick had reunited with his memories for the better part of two months already, but Tim knew these types of things stayed with people. They’d definitely stayed with him.

“Don’t worry,” He finally said. “I’m sure we’ll get a ransom note by tomorrow morning.”

That at least made the older man smile. But there was an option that remained unsaid between them, the idea taking root in Tim's mind hours ago when Jason and Dick had called him and he ran to get onto the closest jet.

A Talon would be one of the fighters Tim could imagine being able to overpower Batman, maybe, and he needed to be both very good and very lucky to have been able to take on Batman and Robin and win. There may have been multiple, but then why did no camera catch them? Even in their salvaged video no other forms other than Damian and Bruce’s flitted past.

It was strange for the Court of Owls to let Damian go when they had proved many times before they knew Damian was a soft spot for Dick. But maybe they needed Damian to stay as some twisted message. Tim wouldn’t put it past them.

“It would make so much sense if the Court had done it.”

Dick sighed. “Yeah. This does sound like the type of thing they would do to fuck with us.”

Tim ignored how Dick deliberately did not acknowledge that if the Court had done this, it would have been solely to get to him.

But the Court seemed to regroup after Dick had made a reappearance as Nightwing again, going back into the shadows and not coming back out in the recent months. If they were to suspect them, they had nothing to go off of. Tim sipped at his coffee and glanced down at his tablet again. In his one ear, Bruce droned on about the newest evidence he’d uncovered about another one of Black Mask’s money laundering businesses. On screen, the man himself came into view right after he’d finished training, running over his recent cases even as he huffed from exertion.

Tim nearly spat out his coffee when he realized.

The mug clattered, Dick barely able to keep it from dropping to the floor. “Hey-- are you alri-”

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Tim muttered, halfway out of the kitchen already. He sprinted down to the Batcave, mind narrowing into single-minded focus as he raced towards the Batcomputer. He was keying in the passcode when Dick reached him, setting down his mug beside him with an exasperated sigh.

It took Tim all of one minute to check the digital case files and find the one he was looking for. He’d been looking at the most recent cases Bruce was working on, but there was no telling how many cases the man had on his mind at any given moment. After sorting the files by the most recently viewed, one jumped out at Tim like a target. The others on the list were recent cases Bruce talked about in his logs, had gathered new evidence for, but this file was years old, around the time Bruce had returned and taken back the mantle from Dick. Tim opened it and felt the older man still beside him.

The file was about an abandoned shipyard off Gotham’s coast. It used to be connected to the rest of Gotham’s docks by a strip of reclaimed land, but an earthquake years before Bruce was even born destroyed the reclaimed area and alienated the shipyard. Now the shipyard belonged to a Mr. Mansley, the name one Tim could vaguely recall meeting at one of Wayne Enterprises’ galas.

“Mansley is a member.” Dick cut into his thoughts, leaning over to enhance images and read through the report. The most recent additions had been more than six months ago, and only of a single helicopter landing onto the shipyard. If it hadn’t happened in the middle of the day, then the dock workers Bruce had paid to be his eyes for the place would never have noticed it. “I’ve spoken to Mansley before. He’s pretty high up in the organization, even has a Talon working for him personally.”

“It’s not a very good lead.”

Dick was already heading for the showers. There was more than a bit of dark mirth in his response. “Has that ever stopped us?”

Tim let out one of his own exasperated sighs. He gulped down his coffee and jogged after his brother. He would need the most freezing cold shower to shock his nerves awake enough for this mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the recent comments, they've really motivated me. Leave another if you'd like hehe.


	3. Arkham Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We check back in on Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made a few edits to the previous chapters, nothing drastic just some time stamps to keep the timeline of events in order.

**Arkham Asylum, 5:01 Sunday**

“You really should stop gettin’ your teeth fixed,” Jason said and slammed his fist into the side of Oswald Cobbleppot’s face. A second tooth, this time a gold-tipped molar, joined the artificial crown on the bloodied floor of the mobster’s Arkham cell. “It just gives me more motivation to punch them right out.”

This was Jason’s fifth prisoner of the night, the doors for each cell getting thicker and thicker the crazier the occupants inside were. But Cobblepot had always been on the non-insane side of the coin, and instead had a six-inch metal door with a combination just so he wouldn’t need to listen to Crazy Mike from across the cell block screaming about the apocalypse. Which was great for Jason, since it meant no one would be able to hear anything from outside, either.

“Ack-!” Cobblepot’s body lurched forward when Jason grabbed hold of his wrist, his other hand circling around one of the man’s fingers. He bent it back with a satisfying pop. 

Cobblepot had lackeys in every corner of Gotham, and when Jason had slipped into his cell an hour ago the man had been sucking on a cigar someone had smuggled in for him, fingers prodding at the still-pink scar on the side of his face. Now he was hunched over and gasping, two teeth missing and one finger broken. He spat, the glob of bloody phlem barely missing Jason’s boot. “I’ve already told you - I don’t have anything to do with this.”

The Penguin only had two weeks until his psych eval, and then he’d be a free man again. His recent stint in Arkham had been because he’d fed Bruce wrong information about a serial killing case, causing the death of a fifth victim before Bruce spooked the killer enough for the motherfucker to jump off a rooftop. 

Jason hadn’t been in Gotham for that case, but he was certain Bruce knew exactly what he was doing the moment he threw that batarang and scared the mobster’s face, when he pushed for Cobblepot to be sent to Arkham, even if it was just for three short months. Bruce held grudges like a bitch, which Jason couldn’t fault him for, knowing what he’d done for his own revenge years ago. He can’t fault him for it now, even if his disappearance _had_ been orchestrated by Cobblepot somehow. If the Penguin had cost _him_ an innocent life Jason would have done something worse. 

He traced the scar that ran up the side of Cobblepot’s face, coming from his jowl and ending at his ear. “Batman’s batarangs leave a pretty big scar, huh? I’ll be impressed if you can get this one covered up.”

“You - !” Whatever the man was about to say was cut off when another hit landed square in his abdomen, the chair Jason had sat him on slamming into the floor. 

“Good one,” Kate commented from somewhere behind him, stoppering a carafe after she’d poured out the brandy it previously contained.

Cobblepot clawed at the wall to stand up and glare at Jason. In response, Jason grabbed at his collar and slammed him backwards. 

A small beep echoed in his helmet. 

_"Jay?"_

Jason let go of the man's clothes with a shove. “I’m busy. What, the little bird remember anything?" 

_"No, we found something else. It's probably nothing, but Bruce was looking at this case file two days ago."_ Dick's voice was level, like it was just before a mission. _"Place belongs to someone in the Court."_

Jason should’ve expected something like this. If there was anything the Court of Owls excelled in, it was creepshow shit like spiriting away Batman or somehow stopping Robin’s heart.

But still; call it a sixth sense, but the Court taking Bruce didn’t feel right to Jason. Then again, when had listening to his _feelings_ ever turn out well for him? 

Dick’s voice cut into his thoughts. _“I’m sending you the coordinates now.”_

“No need,” Jason tamped out Penguin’s forgotten cigar and pocketed it. “Sounds to me all you’re gonna find is another of their clubhouses. I’m sure you and whatever-he’s-calling-himself-now can handle it.”

 _“If there are any to handle,”_ Somewhere in the background an engine started warming up. Jason heard the sound come closer until it almost overpowered Dick’s voice. The words were already a bit softer than what the older man had said earlier, his voice tentative. _“Alfred said he got a room ready for you in the Manor, in case, you know, you wanted to stay.”_

Jason could hear the underlying sentiment. “I’ll keep an eye on the kid.”

_“Thanks, Jay.”_

“But,” Jason smashed the antique reading lamp on Penguin’s smuggled desk. “If they did take him, give them a punch from me, will ya?”

There was a final roar from the engines, and Dick’s voice was in the calm, bright tone he used when he was feeling particularly dangerous. “ _Of course. I’ll tell them you said hi.”_

Kate was already out of the cell and halfway into the overhead vents. “Nightwing?”

Jason hummed, closing up the Penguin’s cell behind him. They decided to call it a night and he followed after the older woman until they were outside of Arkham Asylum, Batwoman leaned up against the weather-beaten concrete wall. After Damian’s panic attack and refusal to talk to Dick the older man had gone on patrol and Tim had carved out a place for himself in front of the Batcomputer. Jason had decided he wanted to interrogate some of the convicts (i.e. blow off some steam) and slunked off to join Kate at Arkham.

“Well,” the woman made for their bikes, parked in a dense thicket. “I’m guessing you’re on babysitting duty?”

“Don’t forget that it’s a baby raised by assassins and recently traumatised.” Jason took off his helmet, leaving him in his domino, and pulled out the cigar. 

Kate shrugged. “I’m of the opinion that Waynes flourish under constant trauma.” 

Jason let himself chuckle around the cigar in his mouth. He got his leg around to the other side of the bike but crossed his arms over the handlebars, thumbing at a lighter. He relit the cigar and took a long drag. Beside him, Kate revved up her bike, once, twice.

“Don’t worry too much, Hood.” She let out a laugh that spoke of years dealing with Bruce Wayne’s shit as his kid cousin and then as a fellow vigilante. She kicked up, her last words carrying even as she drove away, “He’s been in far worse trouble.”

The thing was, Jason _knew_ that. 

He just didn’t know why he still felt so fucking scared. 

He had been on… okay terms with Bruce these past few months. They barely spoke, and when they did it was usually about whatever case they thought was big enough to include the other person. But the few conversations had all been good, nothing ground-breaking, but civil. Nice even, after all their usual fighting. 

It was nothing like what they used to be, and Jason hated that he even thought about _what they used to be_ like it was something he could return to. He hated that he wanted to return to it at all. 

He blew out a puff of smoke, watched as it spread and faded into the darkness. 

The fear had pushed him into action, Alfred’s message of the missing heartbeats and cut comms pushing him until he’d gone through two-thirds of Gotham by the time Damian could be located. Now it was just bubbling at the edges of his mind, like something he wanted to say but couldn’t remember the name of. 

He flicked away the butt of the cigar when he was done, stomping its burning end under his shoe. He thought of the last conversation he’d had with Bruce. It’d been about a drug bust Jason was planning and distinctly hadn’t told him about. Bruce had just called to give some extra information, Jason had scoffed, and that was it. 

That was it, and Jason inherently knew it wouldn’t be the last time he’d talk to Bruce. 

He wouldn’t let it be the last time. 


	4. no visible threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Dick visit the shipyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! this chapter was supposed to include some Damian and Jason, but it got too long and I want to keep my chapters around the same length

**Gotham Waters, 05:27 Sunday**

The abandoned shipyard was a decaying skeleton against the pale skyline, looming over the water on a small bit of reclaimed land that had remained intact, its crane towers rising up to the sky in haphazard angles. Some had fallen during the quake, and their twisted foundations lay over equally crushed ship carcasses. Dick docked the boat behind the rusted hull of an unfinished ferry, half of the huge ship already in the water after its concrete platform had crumbled on one end. He dropped the anchor and turned to his companion when he was finished.

“Anything?”

Tim shook his head, eyes still trained on the Batboat’s monitors. “Nope. Nothing on the radar since we left the docks.”

“Didn’t expect it to be that easy anyway,” Dick said, strapping on his Escrima sticks. Not like infiltrating some underwater facility would be easy, but. He looked over at the water that lapped at the side of their boat gently. About thirty meters away another crane had torn up its concrete base and had half of its upper half in the water. “This place looks like one blast would send everything underwater again.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Tim gave the monitors one last look before shutting the engines off.

They grappled onto the ferry’s deck, the sounds of their hooks piercing the rusted hull hidden by the crashing waves. Tim landed beside Dick, producing a copy of the shipyard’s blueprints on his gauntlet computer. He pointed to a building at the heart of everything. “This was one of the offices. It’s the only place with a helipad, and could possibly be the most structurally sound building in this whole place based on the shipyard’s construction data.”

From where they stood the shipyard spread out in front of them in shades of red and brown, countless warehouses containing largely obsolete parts and tools from the late 70’s nearly bone-white with years of weathering. But even then Dick could barely see a third of the entire thing, and the cluster of warehouses and office buildings in the center of the yard was too far to distinguish.

Dick appraised his surroundings before running across the ferry’s deck. “Gimme a sec.”

He built up enough momentum before he raised his arm and aimed, the line unspooling and then pulling taut when the hook caught at one of the orange beams of a crane. Dick jumped over the deck’s wall, his back leg kicking off before he was flying, legs easily stretching out in front of him. He swooped down in an arch before flipping up and onto the crane’s arm, the structure thankfully remaining still under his feet. Dick easily ran down the beam and hoisted himself up the metal frame on top of the operator’s cab.

_“Okay,”_ Tim’s voice sounded in his communicator. “ _You done showing off_?”

Dick knew Tim would be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Me? Show off?”

“ _es, at any given chance. Now do you see anything?”_

“Not much,” Dick began as he scanned over everything. It was much the same, just from a higher vantage point. More warehouses, unfinished ships, toppled cranes. He looked at the hodge-podge of office buildings before spotting it.

“I have a visual on the helipad.” Dick squinted, feeling the adrenaline in his body spike. There were floodlights on each corner of the rooftop, and Dick was certain they were shining for one second. “The floodlights were turned on, I think. They're dark now."

_"Maybe because the sun's rising? They must function on a timer."_

"No visible threats. Let’s go." 

Hundreds of feet below Tim shot out his own grapple and swung himself onto the low roof of a nearby warehouse. Dick unclipped one of his Escrima sticks and used it to glide down one of the cables, flipping onto the deck of a smaller fishing boat. He shot his grapple at another crane's arm, the sea breeze raking through his hair and past his face as he flipped, head craning back to keep an eye on the younger boy below. 

It was strange seeing the teen in so much brown and without a cape, but Dick supposed Tim didn't like how Red Robin was so close to his old codename. He remembered needing a change when he became Nightwing, needing to feel like he was an independent adult (he was unsure if he'd been either of those things as of late) even when it came to his vigilante name. Dick thought about the last time he'd worked with Tim when he was Red Robin, and his next landing was just on this side of too loud when he realized it had been nearly a year since the last time he'd had a mission with Tim. 

Dick remembered going on assignments with Tim all the time back in the day, stakeouts and reconnaissance missions that sometimes took a few days to complete. That had lessened a bit when Tim joined the Teen Titans and then Young Justice, and had almost stopped completely after Dick had taken Bruce's mantle. The last time had just been because Tim had a contact that Dick found valuable for a case he was cracking down on. 

His little brother had grown up without him noticing. 

His nearly-year long bout of amnesia hadn’t helped with that, of course. 

It was a conscious effort for Dick not to touch the scar. He knew it’d become a tic of his, and he wanted to stop before it became too much of a habit. 

_“Nightwing? Something the matter?”_

Dick shook his head, he couldn’t spiral now, not when they finally had a thread they could pull at. “I’m fine, Drake.”

They met on the sloped roof of a warehouse that housed welding equipment. In front of them stood the central building, its facade square and squat and old. It had tiny windows that showed an interior of shelving units and desks. Dick’s eyes settled on the one or two that had shattered window panes. “You said that this was the main office?”

Tim nodded beside him. “One of them. There’s another one, but it was at the edge and sunk when the earthquake hit.”

By now the sun had risen, the early dawn’s unsure brightness now a dull light blue as morning took over. If there had been anyone else here, they would have seen them. Or they would have been attacked already. But just in case Dick checked each rooftop and open window, his domino’s lenses maximizing the view at certain points to help him see through the glare.

Dick jumped down and gestured for Tim to follow. 

The younger man slid off the roof and landed silently beside him. They didn’t bother sneaking, and after seeing that the door was blocked with something, Dick elbowed one of the windows open and slipped inside. Tim followed, head bowed as he studied the sparse notes Bruce had left on the shipyard’s case file. Dick had read the file so many times he’d had it memorised, so he knew the teen was just reading it now to keep himself from sinking into a fact that Dick had already come to terms with minutes ago.

_There was nothing here._

Inside, the washed-out building was dated and smelled of rotting shag carpet. Chairs and metal filing cabinets had fallen over from the quake, spilling papers all over the dark blue linoleum floor. A light fixture composed of colored glass and scalloped edges was dangling from a loose wire that had broken free from the cracked ceiling. An ancient computer sat where Dick assumed a secretary used to sit. It’s CPU was gutted and it was missing a keyboard. 

The usual sweep of the office space gave them much of the same, the most unusual thing being that every computer seemed to be in the same state as the first one they had seen. Dick had left Tim on the ground floor and was rifling through a particularly kitschy desk of faded aquamarine and orange when a sound like creaking hinges echoed from below. 

Almost immediately, his communicator crackled with Tim’s voice. 

“ _I’m fine. You need to come down here.”_

“Already there.” Dick scaled the stairs’ rails and jumped the rest of the way down, landing on a puke green rug with a sickening squish.

Tim was nowhere to be seen.

Before Dick could ask, his communicator beeped again. _“Last room; there’s a metal hatch behind the desk.”_

A row of doors stood open, leading to small private offices. Most of them already had their doors hanging open from their rusty hinges, their contents similar to the main office space from what Dick could see. He slipped into the last one.

Just as Tim had said, there was a decidedly modern hatch sitting open in one corner of the room. 

It looked new, sleek and heavy duty. No locks, just an old fashioned lever that must’ve been the source of the noise earlier. Dick swung himself into it and landed on a metal walkway a few feet down. He looked up and it was a bit jarring to see the washed out walls of an office abandoned in the 70’s suddenly jump into the reinforced concrete and metal of an underground bunker. 

Tim was just a few paces ahead of him, doing some scans of the place.

“I don’t even know how they managed to dig this deep into the ground without the whole shipyard toppling into the sea.” He shook his head and frowned. “It’s covered on all sides by enough dirt that it’s undetectable through sonar, but the foundations of this place are already weak as it is. I’m not sure it can even last the year.”

Dick found himself humming along, a bit unsure. “Maybe; but this place’s been here for fifty years and it looks fine to me.”

It looked better than fine; it looked near impenetrable. Other than the hatch that was half-heartedly hidden and lacked a proper lock, the bunker looked like it would last another sixty years without a problem. It was sparse and had only two levels, the first of which Tim and Dick were on was just a series of metal platforms that ran along the square perimeter. It had deep lockers for supplies and weapons, but all of them were empty. 

“Looks like they haven’t moved in yet.” Dick looked at the pads of his gloves, they were spotless. 

They decided to implant cameras on the off chance the next people coming in weren’t bright enough to check if the place had been bugged. Tim busied himself with that task, while Dick slunked around the second level, implanting a couple cameras pointed down onto a small training area and what looked to be a clinic with none of the supplies. A row of holding cells ran along one wall, the thick metal bars bright under the pin lights that had turned on when they came in. They were all empty and unlocked, the bars letting only thin strips of light get into the cell. He knew it would be best to put cameras there as well, but he found he couldn’t bear to come too close.

Dick forced himself to listen to the gentle shuffling from where Tim worked above, gaze trained on the blood stained edge of a training mat as he fiddled with his own work. Bruce’s face, battered and bruised, flashed in his mind, blood running down his side, the edge of a batarang slicing his skin. Dick closed his eyes. 

He was here now. 

He was here.

He was - 

“- Dick?”

It hit him like a raging freight train. There was blood on the training mats. 

He grabbed at the flashlight in his gauntlets and shone them into each cell, chest tight. He could hear Tim shuffling down to where he was, before he stood at the third cell and shone his light inside. 

“Holy shit,” Dick wasn’t sure if it’d been him or Tim who had spoken.

Four kids, not more than ten years old, stood inside the cell, lined up along the farthest wall. They were bathed in thick shadow, and would have been impossible to see if Dick hadn’t shone his flashlight inside. 

“Don't!”

Dick was certain it wasn’t him who spoke this time, Tim’s hand wrapped around his wrist and pulling him back. For a second all Dick could see were the children on the other side, anxious rage flaring in his mind as he turned to glare at the teen beside him. “What?”

“The door is connected to a bomb, asshole.” Tim scowled and trudged over to an inconspicuous box to the left of the cell doors. 

Dick sighed. He was tired. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

Tim worked on the bomb and Dick worried at his lip, unable to look away from the children inside. They were obviously drugged with something, their eyes hazy and bloodshot. They were outfitted in matching jumpsuits and had their hair cropped close to the scalp, their skin sallow and studded with cuts and bruises, but overall clean. Save for one - the tallest child (Dick couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl) had a fresh wound somewhere and had bled through the material of their clothes. 

Tim’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“It’s set to explode in five minutes.”

Dick turned to him. “Your computer can’t disable it?”

Tim shook his head, disconnecting the cord he had plugged into the side of the bomb. “The timer is modern, but the bomb itself is old, I’ll need to dismantle it completely if we don’t want the entire shipyard sinking.”

“You’re good?” Dick asked, half of his mind already mapping out the quickest path to take back to the boat. “You’ll only have five minutes.” 

Tim looked at him and Dick didn't need to see to know that the teen had rolled his eyes at him. 

“Yeah, okay, sorry for asking.”

The air around them seemed too still as Dick opened the door and rushed inside, hauling the children onto his back and shoulders. They weren’t limp, but they showed no emotion and simply held on. 

Dick could tell their were severely malnourished, their bones digging into his sides as he hauled them up and out of the hatch. They stood around the opening before he scooped them back up and hauled ass to the boat, arms burning as he carried three kids under one arm as the other held his grappling gun. He shot up at one of the metal beams above and felt his shoulder strain at the weight hanging onto one side of his body. 

He swore when his feet slammed down onto a metal shipping container. He couldn’t even move the kids back into a more balanced position since he needed to use the grapple every few seconds. 

After what seemed like an hour Dick landed on the familiar old ship and made the last jump, the Batboat swaying under his sudden weight. He checked his own timer and it had only been two and a half minutes.

“Okay, stay here.” Dick placed each child down and secured a life jacket over each of them. 

It was much faster going back the way he came, his muscles screaming with the welcome loss of the extra weight. Dick practically hopped into the bunker and ran to where Tim was still crouched. Less than a minute left.

“We should go, Drake.”

“I’ve almost got it,” Tim gritted out around the penlight he held between his lips. “Just a few more wires.”

_40 seconds_

“Drake, just leave it, they won’t know it was us-”

“No.”

_25 seconds_

“Let’s go, Tim. There’s nothing left here, we got all the kids.”

_10 seconds_

“What if they take him here? If it’s destroyed -” Tim said before he clamped his mouth shut, his hand shaking so imperceptibly Dick almost misses it. “I need this place to stay in one piece.”

_5 seconds_

Dick doesn’t bother using words anymore. He took aim and shot out his grapple, hooking an arm under the younger boy’s armpits and pulling him along with him. Tim screamed and flailed against him before he settled into stiff silence. 

The hook of his grapple soared through the open hatchway, through an unbroken window in the old office, and wrapped around the rungs of a fire escape. Dick felt the tug of the line against his arm before they're airborne, Tim instinctively curling into a throwable weight as they near the hatch. He built enough momentum and threw his younger brother through the hatch. Tim unfolded his smaller form to easily slip through, landing on the other side before he shot out his own grapple and smashed a bigger opening in the window. 

The bomb went off just as Dick was exiting the hatch, the terrible crash and rumble deafening this close. He was glad Tim had gone through the window first and thus already made a hole big enough for him to breeze past. He felt the searing heat of the explosion behind him but didn't turn to look, instead swinging his legs forward to gain speed. Ahead of him, Drake was sprinting off towards the boat. 

The burning shrapnel came then, white hot shards of metal and concrete tearing at the protective material of his uniform. Dick landed on the rusted deck of an unfinished ship and kept running, the ringing in his ears drowning out even the sound of his own breathing. He was at the edge when he jumped, going for the warehouse beside the ship, when the world below him shifted suddenly. 

It's enough to get him to trip up, knees landing painfully against the roof's shiny material. 

Underneath him the ground shifted again, and Dick almost registered the groan and crack of metal and cement breaking below him. He looked down and saw a huge crack running down the shipyard's floor, metal support structures rupturing out of the cement. Beside him, a small truck was crushed under the weight of a crane that had just toppled over. 

Dick felt his stomach drop, and he looked up to study the skyline. 

It took a millisecond longer to pinpoint where Tim is, the red of his old costume easier to pick out. But then Dick spotted him, running on top of a ship's carcass, a crane pulling out of its foundations right beside him. 

The man broke into a full sprint, vaulting over to a higher container before shooting out his grapple. This close he heard the groan of the crane bending at its root, the sound coming through the sharp ringing in his ears as the crane arm went down faster and faster. 

"Drake!" 

Tim whirled around, face slack with surprise. 

He swung down and plucked his younger brother up a second before the crane smashed down right where he'd been standing. The rusty hull yielded like paper under the crane's weight. 

At his side, Tim was stiff with shock, head whipping to look back. The ringing in Dick’s ears prevented him from hearing his sigh, but he felt the tension leave the younger man’s body. "Thanks." 

Dick couldn't keep the relieved smile from his face. "What are big brothers for, right?" 

He felt Tim take a relieved breath, about to say something in reply, when the arm not holding onto his brother was wrenched back. A cry escaped his mouth on instinct and he let go of the grapple. In the dizzying blur of colors, Dick recognized the feeling of his shoulder popping out of place. It had happened enough times to be a familiar feeling now. 

A sick snapping sound broke through his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos and comments on the last chap. see you next week :)


	5. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boat ride full of surprises.

Jason had never been a heavy sleeper - Crime Alley made sure of that, the Manor's creaky floorboards made double sure, and training under the League of Shadows had erased any chance of him being able to sleep through the night peacefully. Only a dose of the good stuff Alfred had stocked in the Batcave or a particularly tiring patrol could get him to sleep like a rock, his body aching and skin warm from his apartment's shower. 

This was neither of those times, the fatigue that clung heavy over Jason's eyes simply due to his body giving up on him after two days of running on fumes and pent-up emotion. 

But even then, the light sound of his door opening was enough to wake him, his eyes held closed even as his body slowly became aware of his surroundings. His skin was still chilled from the early morning drive, palms clammy where he had them lying on his sides. Jason barely remembered taking off enough of his gear to ensure that he wouldn't get the sheets bloody.

Whoever was at his door hadn't left yet, and if they were any of his family they would surely be able to know that he was already awake. 

Probably deciding if they wanted to talk to Jason or leave him to try and fall back asleep. 

Jason took the decision from them, opening his eyes and flopping over onto his side. Damian stood highlighted by the scant sunlight coming through the open door. It was well past dawn. 

"Damian."

The boy, unlike everyone in the Manor save Alfred, hated leaving his room in his pyjamas. Even at breakfast he would already be in some long-sleeved shirt or his Gotham Middle uniform. Jason couldn't be certain, but he thought he could recognize the sleep pants the kid wore as an old pair that belonged to Tim. 

"I was just checking on your condition, Todd."

Jason couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He wasn't stupid; he knew that the boy had probably woken up from a nightmare, the amount of sedative and strain he'd been through would have knocked out any other kid his age for a whole day. But he wasn't Dick either, and the kid had only ever sought him out for crime-related stuff or to bitch about Bruce.

"Well," he began, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine. Do you-"

"I am fine as well." Damian said in one breath. He stood stock still at the door, but his eyes were trained on a point somewhere to Jason's left.

Jason nodded, patting at the empty space beside him. "Of course. Would you like to talk about it?"

Damian was across the room in seconds, the door shutting behind him with a smooth click. The hems of Tim's flannel pants dragged on the hardwood before the boy pulled himself up and onto the bed, huddling under the covers with his back still stiff and straight. He looked over at him. "I don't want to talk."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Jason lay back down, hand coming up to ruffle at Damian's hair. "Come on, let's go back to sleep."

The kid let out an indignant squawk, but let Jason tuck him under his chin anyway, his arms tight at his sides.

On his part, Jason tried to fall back asleep but found it impossible, his mind running in all directions. The kid usually came to Dick for things like this, right? If he was here it either meant Dick and Tim were still out (which could be really bad), or Damian was still angry at their eldest for some reason (possibly worse). He glanced at the head of spiky black hair on his shoulder and he decided he would at least let the kid sulk until their brothers came back. 

"You cannot sleep." 

Damn. 

Jason had tried to slow his breathing enough for Damian to think he was falling back to sleep, but he guessed it was stupid to think he could trick a trained assassin-child. He sighed. 

"I'm getting to it, baby-bat." He carded a hand through Damian's hair. "You go on ahead."

The kid made his usual tutting sound in reply, not really burrowing closer into Jason's space, but adding more weight to where his head was pillowed on his shoulder. Jason noticed then that even the boy's sleep shirt was borrowed, the ratty tee obviously one Damian would never keep around unless it had some emotional connection to him. The kid was strangely sentimental like that. 

He felt him take a steadying breath, so Jason knew Damian wanted to talk. 

"You are together with Arsenal."

Well then. 

Jason wasn't ashamed to say he hadn't expected that at all. "Uh, yeah. You could say that, kid." 

Damian could call the thing he had with Roy anything really, Jason was certain even Roy didn't know what to make of their relationship. They were close, close enough to share a bed more times than Jason could remember. Closer than sex friends, but not close enough to be boyfriends. They went weeks without speaking if they were busy with their work. But Jason hadn't been interested in anyone else since they got together, and he was pretty sure Roy wasn't either. So yeah, "together" was one way of saying it. 

"Did you kiss him first?" 

Okay. Why was this the weirdest part of his day? "Kid, are you sure you're alri -" 

Damian looked up at him, his eyes a dark glassy green. His gaze was unrelenting and firm. 

"I kissed Superboy." 

* * *

**Gotham Waters**

The children were in the boat where Dick had left them, their bodies prone. Tim would have thought they were asleep if it weren't for their eyes that remained wide open. They didn't spare so much as a glance even when Tim guided Dick to sit up against the control panels of the Batboat, the man doubled over with pain. 

"Nightwing." 

Tim gave the man a once-over when he responded with a weak nod. 

The injuries weren't too serious, the shallow cuts from the shrapnel bleeding sluggishly and the cut on his forehead where the grappling line had snapped and nicked him already clotting over. Tim felt around his sides and winced when he felt the older man's ribs. He'd slammed his side into a container in his fall before Tim had gotten to him. Tim hoped they weren't broken and simply bruised or dislocated. 

He groaned. "How bad?" 

"You've got some broken ribs," Tim said. "I want you to stay here and try not to move too much, alright?" 

Dick didn't look like he believed him, but didn't say anything, hand clutching at his opposite shoulder. Tim grabbed a bit of gauze to bandage up a cut on Dick's thigh that was deeper than the others, the man swearing as Tim poured antiseptic over the ragged slash. 

With the wound bandaged, Dick expectantly loosened his hold on his shoulder, his back still hunched over in pain. He winced. "Time for the worst part?" 

Tim couldn't help the laugh that escaped his tensed jaw. "Time for the worst part."

Even under the black of his suit Tim could discern where the joint of Dick's shoulder had misaligned, the ball sitting forward of its socket. Tim had reset dislocated shoulders and knees enough times to be comfortable with it, prodding at Dick's torso until the older man was leaning back properly. His uninjured arm braced against the floor, muscles corded as Tim felt around the joint and got into position. 

"Ready?" 

Dick managed a breathless chuckle. "As I'll ever be."

Dick already knew to breathe slowly, his chest rising weakly as he tried to take a deep breath with his injured ribs. Tim grabbed hold of his elbow and shoulder and pushed with all of his bodyweight. His brother bit off a cry, the rest of his exhale coming out in a hiss. The joint would ache like hell for the next few days, and if Tim had been Alfred he would have put Dick's arm in a sling to make sure he didn't put too much stress on it. 

Good thing he wasn't. 

It took Tim less than a minute to get the Batboat running, the boat running on autopilot as he scanned the horizon. There didn't seem to be any other vessels coming to them, and he relayed this information over to his older brother, who had staggered over to sit beside him.

"B wasn't looking over any major kidnappings." Dick mused, eyes still glued to the unresponsive children. "Unless he already suspected the shipyard?" 

Tim didn't need to respond, the older man shaking his head after a moment's thought. If Bruce suspected anything he would've put it on the file.

Dick was frowning, brows drawn in consideration. Tim looked back towards the water, forcing his mind back to focus on the task at hand. There was still a faint pulse of nervous energy that buzzed at the tips of his fingers, crackling up his arms and past where some of Dick's blood got onto his uniform sleeve. He could faintly hear the older man talk to the kids, or more accurately try to get them to respond, voice soft and nearly inaudible past through the engines. His eyes stayed trained in front of him as his mind worked through scenarios in his head. 

It couldn't have been a coincidence. 

But where was the connection? The Court had hundreds of safe houses in the city, why build a new one? The shipyard didn't fit the Court's usual spot as well. Honestly, maybe it was because Tim had done this for the past seven years of his life, but the shipyard was on the same level of obvious hideout as any of the Joker's funhouse-themed safehouses. Maybe it wasn't the Court at all. Maybe they were meant to go - 

"I knew I'd seen this face before." 

Tim tucked the idea into a corner of his mind to mull over later, turning at the sound of his brother's voice dropping into an angry snarl. He was using one of the monitors on the Batboat. Tim looked down to see the screen. 

It was an obscure news article, the title in big black Cyrillic. A girl's face stared back up at him from one of the attached photos, her hair pulled back tightly and her cheeks shiny with performance makeup. 

Tim found that he knew the face as well. His stomach dropped. "Svetlana Morozova?" 

"Bronze medalist at the Junior Olympics for ice skating. She disappeared from her family home in Moscow three weeks ago. The only reason I know is because Clark mentioned Lois looking into it. News never reached past European borders." Dick's voice was tight. "Damn it, Tim. She's fifteen years old."

Tim's eyes skittered off to where the tallest kid with the bloodied clothes sat. Svetlana was barely recognizable, the malnutrition and neglect thinning her already slight frame until she looked no older than ten. It was nearly impossible to tell she was even a girl. But the blood on the hem of her clothes brooked no argument, especially since her injuries didn't surpass faint scratches and bruises. Thin tracks of dried blood stuck to her legs and the soles of her feet. 

Behind him, Dick was tapping away furiously, fingers loud against the glass screen. Tim glanced down and watched as the man scanned through hundreds of missing children's cases, one hand scrolling past photos as another kept keying in search parameters. 

"Make sure you - " 

A sharp boom exploded from behind them, the sound dissimilar from the blast that chased them out earlier. This one sounded like firecrackers, as if a second, smaller bomb was set off. It made Tim flinch with how it cut through the regular hum of the engines. A crane tipped over and fell into the sea. 

Like a string had been cut all four children suddenly curled inwards, their limbs spasming erratically. They screamed in frantic pain. 

His nervous energy sparked into a white-hot bolt of adrenaline, Tim dropping down to crouch beside the smallest kid, their cropped hair light enough to look white. He pried their hands off where they were gripping at their upper arms, ragged nails already biting into the skin and leaving red half-moons. He glanced to where Dick was stopping another kid from biting their own fingers off. 

The kid had somehow slithered one hand out from his grip and was digging at their arm again. Tim wrestled his hands together, swearing when the kid started screaming and kicking, a pointy elbow hitting him square in the nose at least once. The bulky lifejacket Dick had outiftted them with made it difficult to hold him tight enough to get him in one place, Tim surprised at the strength the kid still had after what he assumed was weeks of maltreatment. He slapped on a pair of electromagnetic handcuffs over his thin wrists, the single light glowing green upon contact. Tim set the cuffs against the wall of the control panel, the magnets set inside adhering to the metal in an impossible hold. 

"Do you think you have anymore of those?" A grunt followed the question. 

Across the deck, Dick had an arm around a kid that barely came up to his elbow, another one half out of their lifejacket and ziptied. Unlike him, Tim couldn't ignore that the kid the older man held was savagely biting into his arm, their teeth unable to pierce through the kevlar, but surely enough to bruise. He noticed something that made him pause, though. Maybe a foot away from Dick, brandishing an Escrima stick in each hand, was Svetlana. She was tensed like a bowstring, somehow holding the sticks like she knew how to use them. Tim raised an eyebrow. "How did she get those?" 

Dick actually looked embarrased. "I got distracted?" 

Svetlana made her move, darting out like a viper and swiping at Tim's older brother, the sticks cutting into the air with a dangerous woosh. Dick dodged the first hit and clamped down his injured arm over hers before the second hit could land, trapping her. She struggled for one second, enough time for Tim to unhook another set of cuffs and his Bo staff. He crossed over to the other side and snapped them over one wrist. Svetlana's head turned over to him and Tim flinched in surprise. Her eyes were red, some of the tiny blood vessels there ruptured. And they were filled with fear. 

She twisted her body to land a hit with her free arm, Tim managing to block at the last second. The strength of the impact sent micro shocks down his staff and through his arm. 

Tim pushed her off and swung forward. 

The girl stepped back in response, the cuff on her left wrist flickering green. She crumpled into the ground when the cuff suddenly attached itself to the nearest metallic surface, in this case a metal handrail. 

Tim raised his hands. 

"Let's calm down now, okay?" 

He kicked away the fallen Escrima stick Svetlana had let go of the moment her wrist collided with the handrail. She still looked terrified, red eyes large and rolling from Tim to where Dick stood behind him, jaw clenched so tighly Tim was afraid she would shatter her own teeth. Her free hand still held one stick, and Tim wasn't fast enough to dodge a solid kick to his flank, blocking another before grabbing her arm. He clicked the other cuff in place, twisting at the wrist until the Escrima stick clattered to the ground. He grimaced. "Sorry." 

Svetlana ignored him and curled in on herself, shaking.

That kick was sure to leave a bruise. Tim sighed, back bowing. He barely heard the slap of footsteps before a compact weight slammed into his side, enough of a surprise to send him toppling to the ground. His head smacked against the floor and stars sparked behind his eyes. Tim felt his lips form around a swear, arm coming up to protect his face on instinct. A fast and solid weight fell into his forearm, the kid's teeth bared and pale irises swimming in red. They had a twisted piece of ship hull in their hands and was bearing down with all their might, the jagged edge of the makeshift weapon aimed right at Tim's throat. 

The wet plop of tears fell onto his cheek. The kid was crying. 

There was a thud in the next second, the kid's eyes rolling back. Their limp body fell forward. Dick pulled them away and winced, a hand stretched out to help Tim up. 

Tim took it and noticed that the wound on the older man's leg had opened again, blood soaking through the bandages. He sported a new cut as well, a previous scratch from the shrapnel widened and bleading quite heavily. If Tim was unsure earlier, one check to Dick's side proved to the teen that if his older brother hadn't had broken ribs before, he surely had them now. 

"You'll be glad to know Stephanie packed the Batboat with extra gauze and bandages a week ago." Tim worked to keep his tone light. There really was a lot of blood. "Since you're determined to get yourself injured."

Dick laughed at that, leaning against the wall heavily. He pressed down hard on his wound, blood weakly escaping between his fingers. "You know I'm almost as bad as B when it comes to recuperating. I hate getting injured."

He would usually babble and continue their conversation until they arrived back, but with the fight over he seemed much more tired. Tim made sure the boat was still on autopilot before kneeling down and popping a panel out of the floor. The storage space had a few extra lifejackets, diving gear, and a duffel bag full of civvies Dick had forced Tim to pack for. Tim moved them away and pulled out two rolls of bandages and a pack of gauze. 

When he turned back Dick looked to be two shades paler. He rewrapped the leg wound and peeled away the ragged edges of Dick's uniform, the new cut dragging from his armpit to his last rib. The metal shard normally wouldn't have been able to pierce the material, but Tim could recall that there had already been a tear where hot shrapnel had melted through, big enough for it to become a weak spot. It was all textbook, until he was tying off the bandages and Dick fell limp suddenly, the ebbing buzz of adrenaline in Tim's body spiking. He'd need it to be tight if he wanted to stop the bleeding, but the pressure wouldn't feel terrific on his older brother's broken bones either. "Dick?" 

But as fast as it happened the older man seemed to snap out of it, sitting up and muffling a cough. He wasn't able to lick away the blood that came with it fast enough. 

"I'm fine, little brother." 

Tim sometimes wondered where Dick was able to learn how to smile just right for any situation. Bruce never smiled, and Alfred's smiles always looked conspiratorial. The half-grin he sent the teen now did wonders to calm his nerves, even if his teeth had blood on the edges. 

"You didn't come out unscathed either, by the way." The older man croaked out when Tim was finished. 

Tim blinked. He knew he didn't have a concussion, the fall just looked bad to Dick. 

Oh. He had gotten a cut from the fall, somewhere along his scalp. He'd nearly forgotten. The most annoying thing was the blood that kept gathering at the edge of his domino.

Dick frowned. "Drake."

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to it."

Tim was cleaning blood from his face when Dick gestured around him. "Wasn't she awake earlier?" 

Svetlana as well as the little blonde child were unconscious, bodies hanging limply from their handcuffs. Tim swiped away the last of the blood. "Duke designed new electromagnetic cuffs. They can send a small pulse of energy to the wearer's brain to knock them out if they're tampered with."

"Smart."

"A bitch to make though," Tim laughed when Dick looked at him incredulously. "I'm testing out the two prototypes before we make a set for all of us." 

"I'm going to ignore that first part. I think I have a few more zipties in the bag for the last kid." 

Tim got up to rummage through the duffel bag. It must've been what Dick used to investigate the alley Damian had been found in, empty evidence bags and a few forensic tools tucked in the pockets. An amulet from Zatana meant to sense magical activity glowed purple in another. Tim was surprised to find another pocket in the lining, its zipper almost hidden. He stuck his hand inside and almost jumped when he felt it. 

His ears were ringing. Tim looked down at the bloodied shuriken, glinting dully in an evidence bag. 

"Can't find it?" Dick called from behind. Tim shook his head, still reeling. "It's in one of the side pockets." 

The zipties really were there, and Tim got out a bottle of painkillers as well. Dick accepted the pills gratefully, swallowing them dry and sighing in relief. The pain blinded him from seeing Tim slip the evidence bag into his belt. 

He would test it of course, but Tim was certain the blood belonged to Bruce. 

"I'm getting blood samples." Tim said, because if he didn't do something he would've punched Dick in the face already. 

Dick nodded, grunting as he pulled himself up and into a seat. "I'll tell Gordon to be ready for us."

With that, he pressed a button that connected directly to Commissioner Gordon's phone and started talking after the first ring. Tim thumbed the edge of the shuriken through the plastic. 

Other than the fact that it was in Robin's colors, no else used shurikens but Damian. Damian, who had been displaying increasing violence towards criminals for the past six months, gotten his team disbanded, and been benched for the last two weeks. All this because of Batman. 

Tim had expected a Talk when he arrived to Gotham. It didn't look good for Damian, and he'd been the last to even see Bruce. 

Did Tim think Damain had done it? Of course not. Firstly, the boy had changed so much for the better, and he adored his father, even if he would never admit it. The tape hadn't been tampered with either; Damain had laid there unconscious for the better part of a day until Jason found him. 

But he did think Damian was involved somehow. Tim was actually pretty sure Bruce getting kidnapped was some sort of retaliation after Robin's recent bout of heavy-handed vengeance. 

He'd looked into other leads to let the boy sleep off the sedatives. Questioning an emotional and delirious witness would lead to nothing, after all. Eventually he would have to mention it though. No one wanted to hear it, least of all their eldest brother. But someone had to be logical, and it was usually Tim. He was fine with being logical. He was used to it. 

And so Tim had steeled himself for the Talk seconds after Dick had called him all those hours ago (damn, had it been a day already?).Had readied himself to stand his ground and find Bruce, even if it meant asking Damian a few prickly questions. The boy had gone through much worse. 

But no, Dick had made the executive decision to keep invaluable evidence from him. 

He finished drawing a sample from Svetlana, fingers slipping the vial into a shock-proof case on his belt. He looked to where his older brother sat. "Too bad there wasn't anything in the alley. We might be able to connect these incidents if we had something to go off of."

Dick's shoulders tensed for a split second, then released. "Yeah. Too bad."

When the Talk never came, Tim had thought maybe it was because Dick realised it was necessary. That Dick knew Tim would never wrongly accuse Damian, _his brother,_ even if the older man often thought Tim didn't consider the kid as anything more than a nuisance. Knew that Tim wouldn't jump onto the first oppurtunity to push Damain out of the family. Knew that Tim didn't distrust Damian. 

Tim sat there and realised Dick didn't know him at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess missing the first 2 weeks of uni really does bite u in the butt. Had to finish 2 assignments and a quiz before Monday. Im still makin this a weekly thing, but I have a paper due next week, so probably no chapter either :(
> 
> Hope you liked it anyway and thanks for reading!  
> Also surprise Hood x Arsenal! I love those idiots together too much not to include it.

**Author's Note:**

> im a very new fan and i've barely read any of the comics, so notes on characterization would be greatly appreciated! suggestions on good comics would also be great since idk where to even begin lol
> 
> thanks for reading! hopefully I finish this one before school starts back up.


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